


Turbulence

by MonsieurMadeleine



Category: British Actor RPF, Danish Actor RPF
Genre: Attempted Murder, Depression, F/M, Guilt, Hurt No Comfort, Letters, M/M, Romantic Relationship, Suicide, non romantic relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-11 20:27:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12943182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonsieurMadeleine/pseuds/MonsieurMadeleine
Summary: Hugh can't believe it when the relationship with Mads starts to bloom faster than he ever thought it would. But even - maybe it would be widest to say the most - beautiful roses posses thorns.





	Turbulence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hugh is completely broken and decides to do that what he experiences as the only way out.

Unbelievable how it could hurt that bad. It hurt so badly, this contrast dividing their relationship from a few months ago and the one they now had. Or was this even a relationship? Now it was only to be categorized as sex, nothing more. The come he once experienced as love only radiated anger now. Where did the love this man used to cherish for him go?

One last whimper escaped Hugh's lips as Mads pulled his still hard cock out in an almost cruel manner. Hugh could feel how the come oozed out of his hole, how Mads tried to push some of it back inside before he wiped his dirtied fingers on Hugh's trembling legs. No more words were said when Mads pulled up his pants, pulling his clothes straight, nor when he kicked Hugh to the ground unceremoniously before walking off.

As the footsteps faded away, Hugh tried to redeem himself, even if it was just a little bit. He just needed to, or so he realized now. He just needed to do this. Not for himself, but for those around him. But something hit him: it was no use trying to get up again, no fucking use. Mads was gone, for good. And so was the chance of restoring their once romantic relationship. And yet he knew he couldn't let Mads go, whatever he would think, despite the abuse he had just suffered at the man's hands. He loved Mads, he seriously did, not knowing why nor how.

Hugh barely registered that he was sobbing, if he did at all. Not that he cared about it. He had shed many tears since that fateful night, so what did the tears shed today change? Something he did register was the question lingering around in his mind: What had he done to deserve this suffering, except for performing a few stupid acts? He never wanted this either; it hurt him just as bad as it had hurt Mads.

Engulfed by despair, Hugh didn't even know if that bang was the sound of the door slamming shut or something outside, but once again; he didn't care to know. He had different things to worry about now. For example the wounds Mads' words and actions had carved into his skin and mind, into his complete being. He just wanted all of this to be over soon, so he just didn't have to care about everything anymore. His reputation had fallen off the list of important stuff; he had lost this that fateful night. It was dead and buried - not that people actually bothered to spend any time on him anymore after they had declared him crazy. But then again: he didn't bother to care about it now.

The emotions hadn't left him, however. On the contrary; they flooded him like a tsunami, exactly at the moment that he was weak. Hugh screamed in a desperate attempt to will all of the pain away, and it did for two measly seconds before returning in its full glory. It didn't surprise him. He didn't expect anything else. He just needed to endure the suffering for now. And yet he wasn't willing to let the experience go - or maybe unable to was a better way to say it - and accepting it wasn't an option either. He just didn't want this. This wasn't easy. It wasn't like dealing with your irritating roommate or something of the sorts.

He would never know how, but somehow Hugh managed to scramble up and get himself to the couch before simply collapsing onto it, not even noticing the comfort it offered as his tears started to flow once more. And the worst was that he wasn't even able to blame Mads for anything. Even this emotionally ruined state couldn't be blamed on Mads. Hugh simply couldn't be angry at the man - let alone hate him. He still loved this man, he had even believed they could've had their 'happily ever after'-ending together, if only things had gone slightly different, if he had done things differently. He _had_ been naïve, he _had_  shown harsh behavior at some times, and he had been forced to pay dearly for that.

And then his thoughts turned to something - no, someone else: Cyrus, his little boy. What was the poor boy to do when he heard his father had died? What if Cyrus grew up to hate him, unwilling to grant forgiveness? No, he had the right to know the truth, and that right would be fulfilled. He would know the truth someday, but not now. It just wasn't the time to tell him. Not yet.

With an exhausted sigh, Hugh got up and searched for a pen and a piece of paper. If he couldn't tell the boy now, he would tell him later. And so he would, via the letter he was going to write.

_To my son Cyrus,_

_It's probably weird to you, reading this letter. You probably don't remember me that well, if you do at all. I reckon that you've heard my name several times and that you've seen a few pictures and video's of me, but that's all, or so I hope. You probably know I'm your father - your real father - but this isn't what I wanted to tell you. I want to tell you what happened in the time in which everyone thought I had died. Nobody would recognize my name anymore, and that had a reason. You might wonder why I didn't tell you the story the moment I wrote this letter, but at the moment that this letter was written, you were five years old. I just couldn't bring myself to tell you, but now you're older and wiser. I don't have any scary and/or traumatizing youth to hide, and even if I did, I wouldn't bother you with that. The story I'm going to tell you is about the last one-and-a-half-years of my life and the drama that occurred in them. I used to be so incredibly happy, but things changed. Things that should never have changed. Things that made my story take a turn for the worst._

_You night know that I played in the TV-series named Hannibal. I played Will Graham, the FBI-profiler. If you know that, you also know that Mads Mikkelsen played Dr. Hannibal Lecter, or so I assume. During the filming, I realized there was no denial possible: I loved Mads. I dared to hope he loved me to. It would take two more years after the last episode had aired before God decided to have mercy with me and make Mads send me a message, asking me to go out with him someday. Of course I agreed, but first I wanted to see him at my house. The house I used to live in with you and Claire. I still doubted whether or not Mads loved me, so I decided to just ask it, and he told me he loved me. That day we made love on the couch, and from there our relationship bloomed. We were like teenagers. Maybe even worse. But then We were caught by Claire. She came home early because she had to pick you up from my father's. You were sick and she couldn't stand the idea of leaving you there. You ran up to the bedroom where we were still making love and ran in while we were pulling up our trousers. Something we could both laugh over until Claire entered. She was angry, understandably so, and she told me to pack my stuff and just leave her, leaving several scratches on my face. It would take three months to regain her trust. And I had to pay the price for it: break up with Mads. But I did what it took to see you again._

_Maybe you already felt it, but neither of us could stand it to actually part. The idea alone could make both of us nauseous. And thus we were together again just one week after our dramatic, maybe even traumatizing break-up. And there we went again. But this lasted shorter. Mads felt guilty for betraying his wife like that and told me it would be better for the both of us if we would end our relationship for good, or so I was told. Why I put that in this way? I don't remember anything of the night, to be honest. I was drunk as can be. But apparently, I walked out and when he followed me, I hit him with Claire's car. They found me next to him; I had fainted short after._

__Claire left me after that night, for good, and I bought a new house. I didn't really care about anything, drowning myself in the alcohol. Well, there was one thing I cared about: you. I just couldn't bear the idea that I was never to see you again. You were the reason I wanted to stay with Claire. I loved you, I still love you and I will always love you. I love you more than life itself. Not that I remember that much of the last bits of the life I've lived... But there is something I will never forget, whether I am to live one more hour, or if I'm supposed to suffer for another decade. Mads came to me today, and he was angry. He blamed me of everything that had happened, but I didn't agree. I was angrier than ever, not even knowing why. I was harsh, maybe a bit foolish. And now I've been forced to pay dearly for that._ _

__I won't tell you how he tortured me, exposing me and my body to his anger. I just want you to know the truth. I thought you had the right to know the truth, and now I've provided it to you. I love you. I'm sorry. I wish for you to be happy, to have the best you can get, and that's not me._ _

__Love from Hugh Dancy, your father._ _

How many time had passed? The stars had appeared and Hugh stared out of the window for some time before sighing and stumbling up the stairs to the bathroom, staring at the reflection the mirror showed him. Had he really become the wreck the mirror showed him? Had he really sunk that deep? It hurt, seeing himself that way. But he didn't care anymore: it would be over soon. He just knew it. Was this what was meant to happen? Would anyone care at all if he died? He would never know, or so he reckoned.

Suppressing the reoccurring tears, Hugh smashed the mirror, unable to look himself in the eye a second longer. He kept on smashing the mirror until pieces of it ended up in the wash basin beneath it. He grabbed a pretty big shard and stared at it, seeing the reflection of his own eyes. Eyes that seemed to miss something. Maybe it was the life that had already drained out of him.

No hesitation was felt when he stabbed himself in the guts. He was done suffering, and he knew that now. He closed his eyes in this strange but welcome pleasure. A smile appeared on his face. He knew Mads and Claire would be sad, but they didn't matter to him anymore, just like he hadn't mattered to them anymore. The only person that remained in his mind was Cyrus. The poor boy who he loved more than life itself.

'I'm sorry Cyrus', Hugh whispered before losing consciousness.


End file.
